


let the thunder roll through

by simplyprologue



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rain Sex, Sex in a Car
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 13:12:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6611884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyprologue/pseuds/simplyprologue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re both soaked through by the time they reach Humvee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let the thunder roll through

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** More prompt fills being archived, nothing to see here. Takes place in some blissful future where such shenanigans can happen. Original posting is [here](http://ofhouseadama.tumblr.com/post/141995510154).

They’re both soaked through by the time they reach Humvee. Accurate weather forecasts are still a few months off, barring any new catastrophe or outbreak of war – until then, all that they have to rely on is century-old Almanacs and a good eye on the horizon. So when Abby spotted the dark cluster of clouds coming towards them over the treetops, they started the two mile trek back to the vehicle. 

And definitely did not make in time.

The storm is fast-moving, voltaic, and more than likely will pass over them within the hour. Entering the second month of their first summer on the ground, they’ve become accustomed to these mid-afternoon occurrences. 

Dripping and out of breath, they both notice how much louder the rain is inside the Humvee instead of Arkadia. Thunder crashes overhead, followed by a crackle of lightning. The front windshield is obscured by a wall of water washing down over the hood. The clearing they parked in along the fields of St. John’s Wort and black cohosh turns from a dirt road into a slurry of mud within minutes of the downpour. 

“I guess we’re not heading back anytime soon,” Marcus says, raking a hand through sopping wet hair. 

Abby’s response is a dry laugh as she takes off her boots, unceremoniously dumping water out of them as she kicks them away. “We don’t need to be in Earth’s first head-on collision with a tree in a century. We’d never be able to hand the keys over to the kids with a look of consternation on our faces ever again.” 

“Octavia’s already bad enough, and we got her a horse.” He unzips his jacket, throwing it off. It lands on the floor of the rover with a wet plop. “Cold?”

Abby’s not shivering, but even in the mild darkness of the Humvee he can see the gooseflesh breaking out over her arms. 

“Not exactly.” 

Her eyes flicker from his eyes, to his mouth, and back again. A small grin tugs at the corners of his lips – they’re still fairly new at this, but he’s starting to get better at reading the signals she gives him. So much of their relationship up until now has been forced into the subtext of life. The idea that he can just reach out and hold her hand or kiss her is entirely novel, and unpracticed. 

But they’re not going anywhere soon. 

Cupping the back of her head in his hand, he brings their mouths together. She nibbles on his bottom lip, drawing it between her own before sliding her tongue alongside his. A warmth blossoms between the two of them counterpoint to the soaked clothes adhering a chill to their bodies. They never have the time to just kiss back at camp. There’s always the pull of patients who need treating, or a new security issue, or some particularity of governance. Always something pulling them away from each other, all day, until they fall into bed together at night and promptly fall asleep. 

But here they are, miles from camp. Neither is sure who starts it, if his hand slides up under her shirt or if she reaches for his belt buckle first. But he’s circling her budded nipples with his thumbs, letting her breasts fill the palm of his hands and she’s pulling down his fly, reaching into his boxers for his burgeoning erection. 

His groan breaks the kiss. He presses his nose into her hair, struggling for control as she strokes him to hardness. “Abby…” 

Rolling his head, he latches his mouth onto her neck. There’s a spot, right behind her ear, and if he rolls his tongue over it and then sucks lightly, she whimpers. It’s the sweetest sound; there’s not much that can make Abby lose her hard-won control, but he’s figuring out to tease it from her. 

Five stolen minutes between meetings, sex without prologue or afterthought, isn’t really the way to get it done. But Marcus recognizes the chance the universe has given them, and intends to seize it. His mouth steals down her throat, to her collarbones, and she squeezes her fingers in a ring around the head of him before stroking her thumb up the vein on the underside of his cock. He nearly comes, stuttering out a curse as a warning. 

“We need to – we should–” 

The bench they’re sitting on becomes too confining, and they tumble to the floor. There’s a blanket stashed under one of the seats; Abby grabs at it blindly, shaking it out for him to lie back on so she can straddle him. He has to all but wrestle her wet jeans off, managing to get one leg free before deciding to hook his fingers into the crotch of her panties and pull the fabric aside to slide his fingers through her wetness. 

“Yes,” she hisses, throwing her head back. Her knees are planted on either side of his waist, her hands gripping his shoulders tight. His fingers dig into her hips, centering him atop him. “Marcus…” 

He likes the sound of his name in her mouth, the way the  _s_ slides off her tongue and she holds it there, between her lips. He makes her say it again, and again, teasing his fingers inside her and then crooking them. 

“Oh!” 

Her eyes fly open. 

“There?” he asks, doing it again. 

A low loud moan, she nods her head. Droplets of water slide down from her hair, down her neck, in-between her breasts. The neckline of her shirt is pulled down below her bra, her nipples pushed up over the cups. Another clap of thunder sounds, startling them both. They freeze, and then laugh –  _look at us, aren’t we idiots?_ Abby snorts, and leans down to bring their mouths back together. 

Then she pulls his hand out of her, and seats herself on his erection. 

She’s more open out here, away from Arkadia. At home she can seem almost closed off in bed, her eyes squeezed shut. At first, he worried she was trying imagine herself in bed with someone else, until he figured out she was trying to focus. Invariably, when she climaxes, she whines out a small noise. Then, his name, unwrapping her legs from around him as she settles back into the persona of Abigail Griffin, Chief Medical Officer. 

Now she circles her hips, taking her time to find an angle she likes. 

Then, she rides him until he sees the stars they left behind a year ago. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are always appreciated!


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